And Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by Miss Puppet
Summary: Why Isobel only came to the house the next day. Massive Spoilers for S3E5
1. Chapter 1

**And Forgive Us Our Trespasses **

_Rated_: K+  
_Pairings_: Clarkson/Isobel  
Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.  
_Spoiler: _Contains spoilers for Season 3 Episode 5.  
_Summary_: Why Isobel only came to the house the next day.  
_Genre_: hurt/comfort, romance

_A/N: This is my first real attempt at writing Richard/Isobel, but the scene just begged to be written. It's going to be a two-shot._

_For Lavenderandhay, the captain of the Fleet. _

* * *

They´d offered him the car to take him home, but he had declined, feeling intuitively that the confines of such a small space would only increase how suffocated he was already feeling. Instead he opted to walk, but as the white-brick cottage near the hospital where he'd been living in for the past twenty years came in view, the aching numbness of what had transpired that night washed over him and settled deep in the pit of his stomach. His heart felt too big and too painful for his chest, his throat was raw and his eyes were burning with unshed tears.

It was such a loss. Such a pointless, needless loss. Such a waste of a young life, of a beautiful woman.

He himself was so lost in his feelings of grief and hurt that it wasn't until he had stepped inside the cottage and taken of his coat and hat that he realized things were out of order.  
The door hadn't been locked. There was a noise coming from the sitting room and its door was slightly ajar, a soft light spilling out into the hallway.

He couldn't phantom that he was to be burgled at a time like this and the devastation of everything that had happened left little room in his head to worry about anything else. So without feeling or thinking much, he opened the door further and stepped inside, only to freeze in his tracks and stare with an open mouth at the sight that greeted him.

Isobel Crawley sitting at his kitchen table, wearing one of her plum-red dresses, her hair pulled back in a hastily secured, low bun, her tightly folded hands resting on the surface of the table. At his entering the room, her looking up sharply was the only movement she made.

It was a surreal sight. And so very, very welcome that he couldn't find the words to express this sentiment to her, nor did he think he ever would.

She offered him a small, sad smile, mirroring all the pain and grief he was feeling in her brown eyes, before rising to her feet and making her way across the room towards him, never taking her eyes of him. Without saying a word, she took hold of his hand and gently tugged him into the direction of his fauteuil.

He sat down heavily and just then the sheer misery, the heartbreak and the injustice of it all washed over him like a tidal wave, unstoppable and unavoidable. He buried his face in his hands and let out a choked, shuddering breath.

Her arms were around him instantly, one arm around his shoulder, the other hand sliding down his arm, her fingers closing softly around his wrist. He felt her chest press against his back as if she was shielding him with her body and he realized she must be sitting on the armrest of the chair to be able to enfold him so completely.

"Oh Richard…"

It were the first words spoken between them and they broke the dam, his voice finally finding the words to articulate all his frustration, anger and sadness .

"They wouldn't listen to reason…" His voice was hoarse with pend up fury. "Or at least Lord Grantham wouldn't… That damn Tapsell and his ways… He knew, he _knew_ things weren't right with Lady Sybil and he ignored all the signs."

He took another breath, too choked up for a minute before he continued in a voice barely audible. "She was in agony… during the birth and then later. It all happened so soon… She choked to death, that poor, sweet girl and there was nothing I could do anymore. I couldn't even stand to watch it… I was so bloody useless to her."

One of her hands was stroking through his hair, tenderly, placating and he leant into her touch.

"I should have tried harder…" He went on tonelessly. "I should have made them listen. I knew in my heart beyond the shadow of any doubt that my diagnosis was right." He felt her grip him harder, but he pushed on. "I knew in how much danger she was. I should have tried…"

He was sobbing down, blindly twisting in his seat, trying to get closer to her, trying to drawn every bit of strength from her that she was offering him. He buried his face in the arc between her neck and her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his head and back and held him as he wept.

He cried until he was spend and then couldn't muster the strength to move away from her. Her hand had resumed to stroke his hair and for a few seconds he tried to block out everything else and just concentrate on her. On her scent, on her warmth, on her arms.

Then she spoke again, her voice quiet and clear and deathly serious. "You are not to blame, Richard. You have fought for that girl with everything you had… Matthew told me so himself when he telephoned me. There is very little point in pointing the blame at anyone in any case, but it most certainly wasn't you."

He pulled back a little to be able to look into her eyes, really looking at her for the first time that evening. "Matthew knew what was going on," He told her softly. "Probably before anyone else did. Branson was devastated… I've never seen anyone so stricken with grief. And then that wee baby started crying…"

"Oh God…" She clamped her hand over mouth, her face contorting in grief and he wrapped his arms around her waist and back, pulling her close against him again, him now holding her as she cried.

"It's Sybil…" She hiccupped into his hair. "How can it be Sybil?"

* * *

They stayed like this until dawn broke. Nothing else was said between them, they simply stayed in their embrace. When her tears had stopped she rested her head on top of his, continuing to hold him as he drifted off into a fitful slumber.  
She couldn't sleep, she couldn't even bear to close her eyes. She just sat there, still as a statue, clinging his head to her chest and quietly marvelling how in the midst of so much agony it could feel so right to be with him like this again.

Although it was so different from the way they had started out. The burning attraction between them when they had first met, eventually escalating into that passionate, frantic first encounter in his office at the hospital. She still blushed when she remembered it. How age and maturity hadn't made her any wiser at all. From there on their affair had continued. Allowing her eyes to drift across the room, she smiled wistfully. Once this cottage had felt like her home, more so than Crawley House ever did. For some reason they always came here and she wouldn't have had it any other way. Here she'd been Isobel as opposed to everywhere else in Downton where she was 'Mrs Crawley, the mother of the future Lord Grantham.' She had loved him then and he had made her so very happy.

But then the war had happened and their world, her world had been uprooted in ways she could never had imagined. Once the first wounded soldiers had returned from France there had been so much to do that they had slowly drifted apart. They had never officially called it off, their times together just became more and more infrequent until they eventually stopped alltogether.  
But if she was completely fair she knew she was mostly to blame. When Matthew had gone off to fight she'd been so very afraid to lose him. So much that she hadn't allowed herself to feel or think much anymore. In the end she had ceased to feel more or less anything at all. Instead she had kept herself as busy as she possibly could. Doing things, being useful, fighting for some cause or another… anything to distract her from the all-consuming worry of the welfare of her only son.

She had pushed him out and eventually she had distanced herself. From him, from the hospital and even from her own family. And once the war was over she found that she couldn't go back.

Until this night. Until Matthew called with the devastating news of Sybil's passing. Until the few words he spoke.  
"Clarkson had been warning us all along, but Robert paid him no mind. It all hit him hard as well."

Her mind had been made up the instant her son's words had sunken in.

Richard was waking up. He was shifting slightly against her and she lessened her hold on him somewhat as she watched the emotions play across his face. His brow frowned quizzically as he took her and his surroundings in and just as a sleepy smile started across his lips, his eyes clouded with the memories of the night before. He smiled at her nevertheless, although it was heavily tinged with sadness.

"I've been meaning to ask, how did you even get in here last night?" he asked, sitting up more straight.

Distracted and unnerved by the loss of feeling him in her arms, she looked at the floor and mumbled a little embarrassed. "You still keep your key underneath that potted geranium."

They shared a tiny smile, filled with all the memories between them, everything that had been once. He observed her closely for a few moments before asking his next question. "Wouldn't you have rather gone to the house to be with your family?"

She finally lifted her eyes, looking at him with an almost painful honesty. "No. I wanted to be with you."

He reached down to intertwine his fingers with hers. "I'm glad."

* * *

**Reviews are very much appreciated! **


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews! Got to say, I´m having a lot of fun writing these two. I´ve gone back to chapter 1 and made some slight alterations and corrected some typos. Writing something in one go and posting it straight away on only four hours of sleep after watching what is possible the most emotionally distressing episode on Downton Abbey so far is never a good idea.  
_

_This is also my attempt to keep the Robert/Cora ship somewhat afloat. _

**Chapter 2**

The consultation hour was nearing its end and the nurse on duty announced the last patient of the morning. Richard´s eyes widened in surprise as the door opened to reveal Cora Crawley. A week after the funeral of her youngest daughter, she was dressed in full mourning, the black of her dress and jacket bringing out the grey-pearl colour of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes even more profoundly.

"Lady Grantham," he greeted her, rising to his feet immediately. "Why did you not send for me?"

Despite her grief-stricken state she offered him a small smile. "I fancied a walk. And to be honest, doctor, I wanted to speak to you away from the family."

Instead of being flattered, her behaviour worried him somewhat. He had noticed over the last two weeks that Lady Grantham was seeking him out more and more. She had written to him the very morning after Lady Sybil´s death, profoundly apologizing for not listening to him, for consulting another doctor in the first place. The letter had bewildered him, so he had gone to the house the next day, offering his condolences and assuring her that no apologies were necessary. Her behaviour during his visit had been a bit off then. She´d gone out of his way to make clear that she never had and never would doubt his judgement. And as if by affirming this again and again she could somehow undo what had happened. During the funeral he had felt her watching him on several occasions. She had stopped him last Sunday after church. There really hadn't been any point in her talking to him then, only that it made it obvious that she was indeed keeping an eye out for him. This behaviour was even more distressing since he had learned from Isobel that he apparently was the only one she talked to out of her own free will. According to Isobel she had begun to withdrawn herself from the family more and more.

"Please sit down," he told her, escorting her to the chair across his desk. Instead of sitting down in his usual seat, he settled himself in the second chair across the desk, right next to her.  
"What can I do for you My Lady?"

"I was wondering if you could prescribe me something to help me sleep," she asked him, her voice sounding endlessly tired. "I haven't had a decent night of sleep in a fortnight."

"That's not very surprising, all things considered," he responded carefully. "You've experienced a terrible loss. Lack of sleep is the least to be expected."

"I'm just so exhausted," Cora said in a small voice. "I don't think I can go on like this."

Cora Crawley had always appeared fragile, but now, in her present state of grief she seemed almost ethereal . Richard thought deeply for a moment and then reached a decision. "I will give you something for your present relief," he told her. "But you must be aware that sleep medication can cure the symptoms, but not the root of you ailment. Apart from… the tragedy… has there been anything else? Any change from your normal sleeping routines?"

Cora didn't reply for a long time. She sat there, battling her reluctance to give an honest answer and he waited patiently until she finally spoke. "I've told my husband to sleep in the dressing room," she eventually admitted.

"I see," he replied calmly. This explained so much. Her alienation from her family and particularly her husband. Her suddenly clinging to him like he was the only ally she had. He gave her some time to compose herself before asking: "Do you blame him for what happened?"

Her head snapped up at his question. "Don't you blame him?" she asked, her voice low with anger. "He refused to listen to you… to me… to anyone who had Sybil's best interest at heart. Without him my baby would still be alive. You mean to tell me you don't blame him for Sybil's death?"

Carefully he reached out and took her hand in his. It might be a massive breach of protocol, but at the moment all of that seemed so terribly insignificant now. All that mattered now was to relief some of the suffering of the woman sitting across from him. Even if it meant he had to tell her things she wasn't ready to hear yet.

"No, I don't. I don't blame Lord Grantham," he said quietly.

"How can you not?" she asked, her face filling with indignation and her hand twisting in his grasp. "How can you not blame him for getting it so wrong?"

"Because he was only acting as a concerned father," her replied gently. "If I had a daughter- if I was to become a grandfather for the first time, I would use whatever means within my power to ensure she was assisted by a good doctor.

I'll admit to feeling a little slighted – I would have loved to deliver Lady Sybil's child, to assist a girl I've known all her life, with whom I've even worked with, to become a mother herself. But from a rational point I can see why Lord Grantham wanted to give her the best medical help possible. And Lord Grantham being in the position that he is in, meant he could ensure that the most renowned doctor available was there with her.

If I were to blame anyone, my anger would be directed at Sir Phillip Tapsell and his infuriating, pompous God-complex."

Try as he might, he couldn´t keep the disdain out of his voice and this elicited the faintest glimmer of a true smile from Cora, but he was encouraged by it.

"He should have known better. He is a medical professional and not an inexperienced one at that. He should have recognized the signs. He should have taken action…"

"But that's exactly it," Cora broke across him. "If only they had listened to you…"

"As I said, Sir Tapsell should have given your husband a more sound advice, instead of only repeating what he wanted to believe. Lord Grantham believed him because he kept saying that everything was going to be alright. And no father wants to hear that his beloved daughter is in danger, so it makes perfect sense that his Lordship favoured sir Tapsell´s advice, especially if you take into consideration his reputation."

"But I could see beyond that," Cora said bitterly. "I could accept the truth, even if it was hard. Why couldn't he?"

"Because you're a mother," he told her, giving her hand a squeeze. "And in that respect you are simply more experienced than even I am with all my medical knowledge. You and I both know how fragile life is. Lord Grantham is used to getting things done the way he wants and for the most part, so does Sir Tapsell.

Sir Tapsell appears to believe that health and life and that is in the hand of man and I resent him greatly for it… Life and death is not something humans have within their grasp, Lady Grantham. I've been a doctor long enough to know that. I've been fortunate enough to watch miracles taken place before my eyes, were life prevailed against every possible law of nature. But I've also watched life slip away in mere moments of time, unable to do anything to stop it…" he stared down for a moment, embarrassed by having gotten so carried away.

"But your husband acted with Lady Sybil's best interests at heart, of that I am convinced."

She fell silent, her shoulders tensing visibly, the fingers of her free hand plucking nervously at her shawl. "I don't know if I'm quite ready to forgive him just yet," she said, her voice a barely audible whisper.

"Of course you´re not," he soothed her. "All that I ask it that you allow some room in your mind for the idea that Lord Grantham doesn't carry the sole blame of this tragedy. But first of all, you need time to rest and heal first." He got to his feet and opened the medicine cabinet, retrieving a small bottle. "This is a mild sleeping drink," he explained to her. "Have a spoonful of this about an hour before you go to sleep."

"Thank you, doctor," Cora answered, rising to her feet. The frown hadn't left her face entirely, but she managed another smile.

"Lady Grantham," he stopped her another moment before leaving. "It might be good to realize that even if Lady Sybil had been brought to the hospital there was every chance she wouldn't have made it anyway. Her condition was among the worst I've ever witnessed. No one intended to harm your child, but sometimes life itself is harmful."

She didn't reply with words, but nodded thoughtfully, before heading for the door.

* * *

He'd send Isobel a short note, inviting her over for dinner at his cottage, claiming he was merely trying to save her from starvation at the hands of her not yet very capable maid and now he was standing in front of his shaving mirror, makings sure he looked presentable.

Since the night after Lady Sybil's death they had begun to spend more time together. Part of that was circumstantial, they'd met at the funeral and at Downton when he was checking on the baby but most of it was by design. He was actively seeking her out more and he couldn't help but notice she was doing the same. She'd stopped by at the hospital two times this week alone and it was almost unnerving to realise how much he had missed her there.

How much he missed her altogether. For the past year he had tried studiously to supress the realisation of how lost he felt without her. How empty and dreary his days were when she wasn't there to upheaval his life. How cold his bed was now that she wasn't sleeping in his arms anymore and how pointless it all seemed without her.  
How he regretted letting her go without a fight. How he'd let little annoyances, only caused by his overworked and stressed state of mind during the war come between them.  
How on earth he had managed to lose the most beautiful, infuriating, intriguing and loving woman he had ever met.

And ever since that night two weeks ago he was determined to win her back, to win their life together back.

The sound of the doorbell pulled him away from his musings and he hurried downstairs to open the door. Taking in her appearance he was pleased and relieved to noticed that she looked more like herself and a great deal more cheerful than she had since Lady Sybil's dying.  
He knew how hard her death had been on her, Lady Sybil having always been a bit of a favourite to her. From all the Crawley daughters, she was the most like Isobel. It might explain why he had been so fond of Sybil himself.

With a private smile he remembered how he had once had both the nurses Crawley among his staff. How he had sometimes believed that between the two of them, they would drive him around the bend one way or another. But how he, at the end of each day, always remembered their warmth, their caring and their dedication.

Focussing his attention on Isobel again he noticed she was looking particularly cheerful. In fact, she was positively beaming. He took her coat and hat and hung it away before leading her to the sitting room. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable," he suggested. "Dinner will be out shortly."

But instead of sitting down, she turned around to face him. Supporting herself by placing her hand on his arm, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. Only then she sat down, still smiling radiantly.

Staring at her dumbfounded, he carefully touched the spot where she had kissed him with his fingertips. "Not that that wasn't appreciated," he started, his voice a bit lower than usual. "But what has brought this on?"

"I've been visiting Lady Violet this afternoon," she informed him.

He couldn't help but smirk. "I seem to remember that you used to be in a slightly different mood after a visit to the Dowager Countess."

She chuckled lightly before turning serious. "Well, you know how much she's grieving over Sybil's death. And she's been deeply worried for the past two weeks about Robert and Cora."

"Ah…" he began to catch on.

"Cora was there as well, this afternoon," she continued. "And for the first time it seemed that she was relenting on Robert a little bit. They are far from being alright again I'm afraid, but I am a bit more hopeful about their chances than I was previously. And so is Lady Violet, to her great relief. So when Cora told us that you'd been talking with her, helping her to see things from a different perspective… well, sufficient to say that we are both very grateful to you."

He masked his embarrassment by teasing her. "Can I expect the same display of gratitude from the Dowager Countess then?"

"I should hope not," she replied a little too sharply, colouring slightly when she realized what she had said. "But you have taken a lot of her worries away. Imagine what it would be like for her, after everything else that has happened, to watch the marriage of her son and daughter in law crumble."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I am glad I got to talk to her about this. Perhaps even get through to her at some point. But as you said, it will take some more time. She wasn't ready to hear it today, I think."

"You've become quite good at telling people things they don't want to hear," she told him with a smile. "For what it's worth, they respect you a great deal for it. Tom doesn't trust anyone else near his daughter than you."

Her words made him slightly uneasy because he well remembered a time before the war where he had been a great deal less outspoken or unable to resist the influence of the Crawleys in the running of the hospital.

"You know…" he started slowly, picking his words carefully and all the while not entirely convinced that what he was about to say was particularly wise. "When I was arguing with Sir Tapsell, I thought of you."

"You did?" she asked, blinking in surprise.

"I did," he confirmed. "I remembered how persistent and determined you can be during a discussion. How you never back down when you're convinced that you are right… it gave me the strength to carry on, even if they wouldn't listen…" Perhaps he had said too much. Perhaps she too wasn't ready to hear what he wanted to say.

"Richard…" her eyes were shining suspiciously and as rose and crossed the room to where he was standing, he noticed her bottom lip trembling, even if she was biting down on it rather hard to prevent it.

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time," she told him, coming to stand so near to him that their bodies were almost touching.

"Well, it's the truth," he answered softly, his hand slowly closing around hers. "You've changed me, Isobel. And I believe I'm a better man because of it." He hesitated, the next words hovering on his lips for a moment, before spilling out; "And I miss you dreadfully."

She laughed and sobbed at the same time, resting her forehead against his. "Thank god! I've been so miserable without you. And I didn't even realize it until two weeks ago."

"You and I both tend to focus far too much on everything else that is going on," he contemplated quietly, his hands automatically finding their way around her waist.

She realized how right he was. The war, the hospital, the refugees, her family… somehow it had all ended up between them, stifling their love. She caressed his face lovingly and smiled. "How about we focus on 'you and I' for a while?"

He never replied with words, but instead lowered his head to hers and captured her lips in what started out as a sweet and gentle kiss, but soon grew to be so much more, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the love she felt for him.  
He'd forgotten how warm and responsive she was – or rather remembering it and experiencing it were two different things altogether. With a low groan he deepened the kiss, picking her almost off the floor in his desire to pull her as close as possible.

Having manoeuvred her across the room by then, their kiss broke as they sat down on the settee, Isobel ending up sitting halfway across his lap.  
"For a very long time," he agreed, claiming her lips once more.

* * *

**Help the Richobel ship to apply for canon status and dedicate a review! We´re almost there people ;)**


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